


Sometimes

by Castiel_For_King



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-19
Updated: 2015-09-19
Packaged: 2018-04-22 11:02:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4832972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Castiel_For_King/pseuds/Castiel_For_King
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been seven years to the day since Castiel pulled him out of hell.  Not something normal people would discuss over coffee but...they're not normal people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sometimes

Castiel had gotten into the habit of sleeping since moving into the bunker. Dean and Sam had both worried one day when they'd come home from a hunt in the middle of the night and had found Cas - after searching half the bunker in a growing panic - sound asleep in the room across from Dean's. The angel had stripped down to his boxers and curled into a ball in a nest of blankets stolen from at least three other rooms, dead to the world.

Dean's chest had been tight with relief when he spotted the messy black head of hair poking out of the wad of blankets, but worry was quick to fill the space behind his ribs.

He and Sam had shared a look then. Why was Cas sleeping?

They hadn't woken him, worried that he needed the rest for some reason, but Dean fretted for the entire four hours the angel was down, moving from room to room, cleaning things that didn't need to be cleaned and cooking a plate of burgers in case maybe Cas needed food too for some reason.

Sam had stayed up with him, reading in the library but not saying anything about Dean's nervous energy; merely lending the comfort of his presence.

At half past five in the morning, Castiel had finally shuffled into the library in a pair of plaid pajama bottoms Dean didn't recognize. His cheeks were red - likely from the heat he'd gathered under all those blankets - and his eyes were even more squinty than normal, open just wide enough so he didn't bump into any walls or furniture. His hair was a wild mess around his head and there were creases in the tanned skin on his shoulder from the sheets.

Cas had shuffled - his bare feet making little _swish-swish-swish_ noises on the floor - into the library without a word, dropping into the chair next to Dean's and staring straight ahead with the same look everyone had after a nap - glazed over like he was thinking about how much he wished he was still asleep.

"How you feeling, Cas?" Dean had asked, quite anxious about the answer he might get.

Cas couldn't go down hill again, not now that everything was done and over with. Not now that they finally had a chance to relax and sort through some of their shit.

"Fine. Why do you ask?" was Cas' soft reply. He scratched absently at his jaw, blinking slowly.

"Why were you sleeping then?" Dean blurted. The tightness in his chest had eased a little in the face of Cas' nonchalance but he had to make sure he understood what was going on.

But Castiel just shrugged. "You were both gone. I couldn't figure out how to make the TV work. I was bored, so I slept."

"But I thought angels don't sleep." Sam had pointed out, speaking up for the first time.

"We don't _need_ to sleep...that doesn't mean we _can't_." Some of the grogginess had lifted from his eyes and his full lips twisted up into a gentle smile. "I like sleeping...I just don't like getting up."

After that Dean had caught the angel sleeping exactly twelve times and every single time Dean lingered in the doorway because god dammit Cas was adorable when he slept. Sometimes Dean would find him tangled up in the blankets, cotton twisted like rope around long, lean, runners legs. Other times Cas would burry his head under the pillows, the blanket's all bunched in a pile on top of him with his bare feet poking out the bottom. Sometimes Dean would walk by the open door and all the blankets had been tossed to the floor and Cas was belly down on the bare mattress, one arm flung over the edge.

Sometimes Dean stared too long, eyes tracing over the soft lines of Castiel's face or the curve of his hip or down the long smooth outline of muscle in his legs...his skin looked so much darker next to those white sheets.

And when Cas woke up he was always so grumpy and squinty and his cheeks were always a little flushed and he always sought out Dean right away because Dean always made sure there was fresh coffee in the pot for when Cas woke up. He'd watch the angel stumble into the kitchen, looking more like a disheveled kitten than a warrior of God, and his blue eyes would latch on to the coffee pot, there mere sight of which was enough to give him a boost.

After he mixed it he would always hold the mug with both hands, letting the heat seep into his skin and move over to lean against the counter, his bare shoulder to Dean's clothed on.

"Thank you." he'd sometimes rumble quietly.

Other times, when he was still half asleep and words were out of his reach, Cas would simply let his head fall onto Dean's shoulder for a moment while he stared off across the kitchen.

That was Dean's prefered reward for keeping fresh coffee on all the time, because Cas' hair was ridiculously soft and it would tickle the side of his neck and it smelled like fresh air and rain water - _ridiculous_ \- and Cas would press against his side all soft and warm and sleepy and so grateful for a simple cup of god damn coffee that it made Dean's chest feel like it was full of helium.

After a while, Cas' sleep schedule aligned with Sam and Dean's and the habit of sharing coffee while leaning against the counter became a ritual that Dean looked forward to every morning - with more enthusiasm than he could ever remember feeling. When his alarm went off at 7AM, Dean rolled out of bed without hesitation, near eager to make the coffee so that the smell could waft through the bunker and wake Castiel.

Sometimes they talked while they sipped their coffee - but never about anything important. Sometimes Dean talked about what they should get for groceries that week because he'd found a recipe online that he was pretty sure Cas would love but it called for grape seed oil and they don't usually buy that kind of stuff. Sometimes Dean would mention another show they should watch on Netflix because it was so Cas' kind of humor and he knows the angel will like it.

No matter what Dean talks about, Cas always listens intently, blue eyes soft while he sips his coffee.

Sometimes Cas talks. He once went on a tangent about bees after staring into his coffee with a frown for several long minutes. Another morning he'd only said that if Sam was going to get a dog then they should most certainly get a guinea pig as well.

Sometimes Dean gets distracted by the sound of Cas' voice and forgets to listen to the words.

One morning Dean wakes up before his alarm. It's only 6AM and for a moment it's completely unacceptable that he is expected to wait an entire hour before he can see Cas in the kitchen.

He rolled onto his side, staring across the empty space on the other side of his mattress.

It's September 18th, according the the calender on the fridge. Of course, Dean already knew that.

He wondered if Cas knew what day it was too...or if he'd remember what it meant.

His shoulder itched - an echo of the scar that had been gone for years.

That morning Cas didn't say thank you for the coffee out loud, he pressed closed to Dean's side and laid his head on his shoulder, and the warmth of him so close was like a balm to Dean's nerves.

"Can I ask you something?" Dean said into his coffee. That was easier.

"Of course." Cas still sounded sleepy.

"When...when you pulled me out of Hell..." he trailed off, almost expecting to feel Cas tense up beside him, but Cas stayed soft and still, his head a comforting weight on Dean's shoulder. "Um...when you pulled me out of Hell, how did - I mean, the hand print..."

"How did I hold you?" Cas supplied gently.

Dean cleared his throat with a gruff, "Yeah...was just curious."

There was a crack in their routine then, when Castiel lifted his head off Dean's shoulder and reached for his mug of coffee, setting them both on the counter. He placed a hand between Dean's shoulders and pushed him forward a step, sliding in behind the hunter.

"Just like this."

Dean's heart beat frantically at his ribs and heat rushed to his face when he felt Castiel's arms slip around his chest, wrapping all the way around until he felt Cas' hand grip his shoulder tightly, right over the same spot his grace brand used to be.

"You fought me, of course, the entire flight out." Cas murmured against the back of his neck, before shifting and resting his chin on Dean's other shoulder.

Dean could hear the smile in his voice and he felt the corners of his own lips pulling up.

That night, right before Cas went to his own room, Dean had stopped him - had fumbled his way through a lame invitation for Castiel to maybe sleep in his bed tonight, since, you know, he had some more questions about some stuff and maybe in the morning Cas could get up with him and _help_ make the coffee for once.

In the face of such sound logic, Castiel obliged.

But once they were settled and Dean was staring across his bed into dark blue eyes he couldn't seem to remember any of the questions he wanted to ask.

Cas didn't seem to mind.

Dean woke before his alarm again the next morning and a smile was already on his face because his arms were full of angel. Cas was sound asleep, his breath hot and steady against the side of Dean's neck. One arm was draped across Dean's stomach, heavy and warm and under the blankets their legs had tangled together.

With warmth spreading through his chest, Dean curled his arm around Cas' shoulders, pulling him closed and pressing his lips to the top of the angel's head. Fresh air and rain water - ridiculous. He couldn't stop smiling.

"Happy anniversary." Cas suddenly mumbled groggily into the side of Dean's neck.

He laughed - couldn't help it - jostling Cas but refusing to let him go when he squirmed grumpily.

"If you let me go, I'll make the coffee as a gift." Cas offered, going limp against his side once more.

"You make terrible coffee, Cas, I'm not letting you near that machine without adult supervision." he pushed his fingers into Cas' hair, grinning when the angel made a soft noise.

"M'older than you."

"Only in some ways." Dean said. He let his hand brush down the back of Castiel's neck and between his shoulder blades, spreading his fingers against soft skin. "Come on, angel, I'll teach you how to make decent coffee."

Castiel looked up at him, lifting his head and resting his chin right on Dean's sternum, blue eyes more clear and awake than was decent at that time of day.

"Ok." Cas' full lips stretched into a wide smile, showing his straight white teeth and making the corners of his eyes crinkle and Dean felt like he couldn't breath.

Cas suddenly leaned up, his mouth hovering so close to Dean's that he could feel the angel's warm breath on his face, and then Castiel's lips were pressing against his and Dean sighed, feeling dizzy.

Cas' lips were ridiculously soft and plump and _warm_ and Dean reached up to curl his fingers around the back of the angel's neck, pulling him back down so they were chest to chest because to have any kind of distance between them was just stupid.

Cas pulled away, both hands dragging down Dean's torso as he sat up. "Come. Teach me to make coffee."

"Oh yeah? And what do I get in return for revealing my secrets?" he asked through a smirk.

Two spots of color spread over Castiel's cheeks and Dean was suddenly very aware that Cas was sitting right in his lap.

"Oh..." Castiel's blue eyes seemed darker against the flush of color on his face, and they trailed down the length of Dean's chest before snapping back up to look him in the eye. "I'm sure I can think of _something_."

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I shamelessly crave your opinion. Be a doll and give it to me, will you?


End file.
